


Never Too Late

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark!Steve Rogers - Freeform, F/M, Older reader, dark!fic, noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 101
Kudos: 295





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No I don’t know when the next chapter will be up or why I’m posting. The last few days have been some of the worst of my life and everything’s fallen apart.
> 
> Thank you. Love you guys!
> 
> As always, if you can, please leave some feedback in the comments and a kudos <3

You thought thirty-nine was hard. You remembered it clearly, as if it was yesterday. A whole year. _Another_ year. Gone. You greeted forty as you had every day. At your desk behind the ridiculous protective glass as you renewed licenses and issued permits. 

The same tedious, draining eight hours, the same dull co-workers, the same broken water cooler, the same sign flashing numbers as you beckoned forth the next impatient person. _‘What took you so long?’ ‘This is ridiculous.’ ‘Goddamn pain in the neck.’_

No one wanted to sit in the old and stiff plastic seats just to get a terrible photo taken and have to wait even longer for the actual card to arrive in the mail. And you didn’t want to help. That became clearer the longer you were there. The job was thankless and dull. Like everything else in your life.

You left as you did every night. You promised yourself it wouldn’t be like your last birthday. No bottle of wine burning in your gut. No splitting headache the next day as you stared into the toilet bowl. Just a little treat that couldn’t possibly turn bitter.

And that was just like you. No risks, no spontaneity. The same old routine. You could hear mother’s voice then. _‘You’re too stubborn. That’s why you never held onto a man. You waited too long. Nothing is ever going to be perfect enough for you… for grandkids.’_ Well, she had others. Your sister had a boy and a girl, and your brother was blessed with three daughters. More than enough for her. Unlike you.

It was raining. On your birthday. In the middle of summer. Typical.

You were soaked by the time you got to the train and hesitated to follow through on your planned sojourn. You got off a few stops before yours and climbed up to the street. The downpour slowed to a drizzle. You dipped through the automatic door and the air-conditioned grocer chilled your damp clothing.

You went to the refrigerated glass shelves of pastries and specialty desserts. A whole cake to yourself seemed exorbitant; not just on your stomach but your wallet too. They had single slices of cheesecake but only plain left. You wanted chocolate or strawberry or something that you would slightly regret.

There was a pretty cupcake; chocolate with mocha icing and a drizzle of dolce leche and some garish edible beads sprinkled over. You took the small plastic container and headed for the frozen aisle to grab a pizza; thin crust with cheese. The calories added up along with the years.

You paid for your measly meal and slightly ridiculous dessert and headed back out onto the street. Your flat slipped on the pavement and you steadied yourself with your other foot only for your toe to catch a crack in the pavement. You flailed and fought but in your usual graceless existence, there was little else you could do but resign to fate.

The plastic container was crushed beneath your chest atop the pizza box and your purse fell painfully down your arm as your knees scraped through your wool pants. Just your luck. _Just your fucking luck!_ You cursed in your head and slowly pushed yourself off the mess, chocolate smeared across your blouse.

You wanted to cry. And scream. You wanted to disappear as the apathetic New York rush passed you by. As life passed you by. And the urge only got more intense as a shadow stopped before you. As your eyes glossed over the shoes and followed the long legs up a formidable figure. As the man with the golden hair knelt and helped scrape up the mess onto the pizza box.

“Oh my god,” You grumbled as you took it from him embarrassed. “You don’t have to–”

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’d really prefer it that you just…” You shook your head, you could barely look at him. “Just ignore me like everyone else. Please.”

“Come on,” He offered you his hand but you just stared. He grabbed your elbow instead and helped you stand. “I’m sure they have a dozen more–”

“It’s fine.” You swept past him and shoved the box and mess of plastic and icing into the trash. He followed you, barely evading other pedestrians as he did. “ I’m just… Thank you. I’m fine.”

You turned away and he caught your elbow again. He was strong. You turned back, annoyed with him as much as yourself. And now that you looked at him directly, he was familiar. And that was worse. You cringed and wiggled your arm free.

“Hey,” He let go and pointed down. “You’re bleeding.”

You looked and the knee of your pants had soaked through with blood. You sighed and shook your head. 

“It’s just… another nail in the coffin,” You huffed under your breath. “I’ll survive.” You assured him and spun away once more. “Happy birthday to me.” You grumbled.

You heard him behind you then felt him beside you as another New Yorker narrowly avoided him. You were starting to get angry and the humiliation curdled in your chest.

“It’s your birthday?” He asked.

“How–” You glanced over at him. “I…whispered that.”

“I have good ears,” He smiled.

“You would.” You frowned. “Well… Steve Rogers,” You announced as you crossed your arms and stopped again, a snarl hurled in your direction from a passerby. “You saved me. Your work for the day is done.”

“You know who I am?” He mused. 

“I might be clueless but not that clueless,” You said. “Look, thank you. I aready said it once.”

“Let me buy you a cake,” He said. “Then my job is done.”

You squinted at him. Long and hard. No man was ever this nice to you. Not without reason. And this was the Steve Rogers. The Captain America. He was every woman’s dream and every man’s envy. You were a forty year old hermit covered in rain and cupcake.

“Really, you’ve done enough.” You hissed. “I can’t–No.”

You marched away from him but he was relentless. He kept you from the subway as he rounded you and blocked your path.

“You seem like you’re having a bad day. Let me make it better.” He said.

“Why?” You asked. “You don’t know me.”

“Well, you know who I am. So we’re halfway there.” He smiled. “What’s your name?”

You tilted your head as you considered him. If you humoured him, it would be over sooner. You couldn’t imagine what urge drove him to his persistence. _Was it a genuine need to be valiant? A compulsion? Pity? Maybe he amused himself with the pathetic missteps of others?_

You gave him your name. Begrudgingly.

“There’s a bakery close to here. Established 1934.” He said. “I went to the opening with my mother.”

“You really don’t–”

“The more you insist I don’t, the more I want to,” He interrupted. “So, let me do something nice.”

You stared at him and the mist began to thicken. The rain drops bounced off the awning over the next storefront and ran down the aged brick of the neighbourhood.

“Come on, before you catch cold,” His hand was on your arm again. You let him usher you past the subway entrance; more eager to be out of the rain than anything.

The door rang as you entered. The bell was old and tinny and the inside betrayed its age. Not in a bad way. It was clean and smelled of bread and cloves. The hand painted cards lined before the trays of baked goods and the faded portraits of loaves and bundts were of another time. You felt old and not very all at once.

“Their black forest is good,” Steve said as he shook the rain off his thin jacket; if the rain hadn’t broken the humidity, he’d have been stolid. “Red velvet…” He looked at you. “French Vanilla.”

“Oh, do I seem vanilla to you?” You challenged as you turned to the display and avoided his eyes. 

“It’ll be nice. A treat to take home for the family.” He said. “Husband? Kids?”

You scoffed and bent closer as you read. Your glasses were at the bottom of your purse. A new prescription you were in denial off.

“I’ll take a slice of the cherry chip.” You said to the woman on the other side of the counter. “Please.”

“She’ll take the whole cake.” Steve reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “My treat.” He slid a bill across as you stared at the floor. “No one to share with?”

“My cat died after Christmas,” You shrugged. “I suppose I could bring it in for my co-workers.”

He was quiet as the baker boxed up the cake. The tension between you thickened.

“I know it’s kind of… frowned upon to ask but–”

“Forty,” You interrupted. “A nice, even number, I guess.”

“Ah, a whippersnapper,” He nudged you before he took the cake from the banker with a thanks. “I think I’ve bothered you enough.” He held it out to you. “Happy birthday.” He glanced out the window as you accepted the box. “You should wait this thing out but…” He pulled up his hood and checked his watch. “I got a friend waiting on me and he’s not very patient.” He grinned. “And I was late when I ran into you.”

You watched him go. He swung the door open and the bell rattled again. The rain pattered off his hood as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced at you one last time before he dove into the city crowd and sidestepped the splash of a passing car. You looked down at the dark green box.

Well, at least you could say it hadn’t been an entirely uneventful birthday.

🎂

Break was almost over. You spent your last few minutes in the washroom. You leaned closer to the mirror as you frowned. That made it worse. That new line around your lips… and the crow’s feet. _Was that another grey poking through?_

Well, it might help if you stopped scowling. You left your reflection behind and returned to your desk. You got settled and punched back in through your computer. The next number flashed across the screen facing the waiting room; G645I. You didn’t watch to see them stand and approach. You grabbed a pen and scribbled on a post-it as the shadow neared.

“And what are we here for today?” You asked as you finally looked up.

“License renewal,” The paper slid through the slot beneath the window as you blinked up at the familiar voice. “Ten years already.”

“Oh,” You took the form and turned to your monitor as you typed. 

Steve Rogers said your name as if to confirm your fears that after a whole two weeks, he still remembered the woman with cake smeared across her front. You bit your lip without thinking as you looked at him.

“Did you enjoy the cake?” He crossed his arms and leaned on the little ledge, as close to the window as he could get. You didn’t miss Gloria’s errant glances as she ignored her own applicant for yours.

“It was good. Thank you.” You focused on inputting his information. You hid your startled realisation as you keyed in 1918. Whatever they had given him, you wanted some. “I think Gary enjoyed it more. He’s just down at counter three.”

“You sure you’re forty?” He asked.

Your lashes flicked up and you rolled your eyes.

“Coming from you…” You muttered.

“Well, I had help.” He chuckled.

You carried on and scribbled across his form.

“I need you to back up to that line. Look at the camera.” You said tersely as you hit a few buttons. “No smiling.”

He couldn’t help a curve of his lips as he backed away but he squared his jaw and wiped away his amusement as he hit the marker. You focused the lens and took the picture quickly. His image appeared before you and you finished up the renewal as he stood at the window.

“Never really thought about Captain America needing a license,” You gathered up his copy and stapled it to the confirmation. You slipped it to him and his fingers somehow brushed yours beneath the glass.

“Even I have rules,” He kidded.

You narrowed your eyes at him and struggled not to shake your head.

“Three to six weeks,” You told him. “It’ll be in the mail. Keep that in your vehicle.”

“And… how was the rest of your birthday?” He asked.

You were quiet. You considered him and swallowed. You could hear the titters of your co-workers. You wondered how he didn’t, or perhaps he had learned to ignore it.

“Better,” You confessed. “Thank you again.”

“No, thank you,” He folded the paper and tapped it on the ledge. “You’re a doll.”

“A doll?” You echoed.

“Forgive me. My age shows.” He laughed. “You have a good day… take care of yourself.”

“You too, Mr. Rogers.” You said stiffly.

“Oh, and… as an elder, can I share with you something I’ve learned over the years?” He paused as his hand rested just on the other side of the glass.

“Sure,” You said.

“Sometimes you gotta break the routine. Do something fun. Something for yourself.” He backed away slowly. “Get a little wild.” Your brows drew together and he winked. “From one geezer to another.”

He turned and strode past the of chairs of impatient applicants. You took a breath and tried to shrug away your discomfort. It felt almost patronizing to have him talk to you like that. Like he knew you. Like he, the laboratory adonis, could relate to the paunch under your waistband or the slowly sagging skin on your arms. It was almost as if he had been rubbing it in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)
> 
> This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are... going. But I’m doing my best.
> 
> Thank you. Love you guys!
> 
> As always, if you can, please leave some feedback in the comments. I'll be doing my best to catch up with comments from the last chapter. Thank you all again for you patience.

It was about time you started doing something. Past due, you’d say. Your body was screaming for it. You were no longer the college grad who could sit and eat potato chips to her heart’s desire. Or the thirtysomething in denial of the looming 4-0. No you had stepped upon the threshold and you felt and saw the changes which came with another decade.

And yet, the simple act was daunting. Your old beat up sneakers squeaked as you descended the stairs of your building to the street. You wore a pair of thin track pants you’d bought years ago on the unspent whim of a New Years’ resolution. Your sports bra was new and uncomfortable; the tank top a bit too tight for your liking. 

You did your best to stretch outside. You kicked your foot up against the brick and lunged a few times forward and back. Your muscles were stiff from inactivity; from years of neglect; from time. You hopped in place as worked up to your departure. 

You began at a slow jog. You reached the first corner out of breath.

_You were old. Accept it._

You continued and wove your way to the park where few others paced themselves around the fountain and winding paths where happy owners walked their happier pets. Another breather as you gasped. The sweat gathered under the cotton shirt and created a humid tent in the pants. 

You gripped your hips and stared ahead. _Keep going._ You pushed off your heels and bent your arms as you fought your way through the tension in your chest, the burn in your lungs, the ache in your knees. One day at a time, it would get easier. You hoped.

You wondered how you’d manage to fit in your new regime on workdays. A morning run would mean even earlier days; likely shorter nights. You’d have to make it work. You didn’t have another ten years to wait around; if you did, it might be too late to change.

You were tired. Of the years passing like second. Of the tedium. Of nothing happening. Of failed hopes. Of pointless relationships and temporary stability. You weren’t where you wanted to be and you’d likely never get there but there were other desires in life. Other achievements to be made.

Your mother could resent you for your singleness; your lack of familial bliss. She could not begrudge you entirely. Not if you bettered yourself. Not if you turned it around and tried. Not if you set aside your passivity for proaction. Because it was your life, not hers.

When you got back to your building, you were ready to collapse. The old elevator was still out of order. It’s old grated doors marked with an X of tape and a handwritten sign. You dragged yourself up the stairs and stumbled inside. You downed a glass of water and splayed over your single armchair. Your heart slowed as you flipped on the television and checked off day one in your newly downloaded app.

👟

Day two. Exhausted and still sore, you made yourself go. You had an hour before you had to be back to shower and ready for work. The day seemed even longer ahead of you. Eight hours at a desk in pain, dealing with the frustrated public. It was worse than you could imagine. Your night was spent with an ice pack and half-dazed.

Day three, four, five. A tic in your phone which barely felt worth it. Six almost saw you giving up as you ambled around work with splints in your calves. Seven, another day off, but you still had work to do. You pulled on your freshly washed track pants and a loose tee. The last days of summer approached but the heat had yet to relent. 

You took your usual route to the park. You stopped at the entrance and stretched a second time. You found it was helping. The pain was duller, the aches less spread out. You set off and found your step. A week and you could already see the ounce of improvement. Well, inside more than out.

You measured your breaths as you neared the curve shrouded in trees; leaves still lush and aromatic. Soon enough, they’d darken and drop. Time was like footsteps. Each one forward took you further from where you were and yet you could feel like you were standing still or come to a startling stop that left you hurtling into the void.

Like then. Your worn treads slid over the ground as you collided with the unexpected runner coming your way. Your eyes had been above him, staring at the rounded tree tops and their sprawling branches. On the early morning hues that cast the sentinels in a placid mural.

You stumbled back, your hands reaching back to catch yourself but you never met the ground. Two thick hands caught your upper arms and steadied you. You looked up, both surprised and not by the face staring back at you. Both familiar and not. After so long in the city, the last two weeks had seen as many run-ins with Steve Rogers. More, now.

“You,” He smiled as he slowly released you, his fingers tickled your arms. 

“You.” You echoed dully. 

“Small world,” He chuckled.

“New York isn’t that small,” You said. “You must think I’m some weirdo.”

“Or maybe I’m the weirdo?” He ventured. “Didn’t peg you as a runner.”

“Wow, thanks,” You scoffed. “And I’m not. Well, wasn’t. New hobby.”

“New?” He raised a brow.

“One week,” You shrugged. “Not much and I’m sure once it’s cold, I’ll go back to my sloth,” You said. “Uh, sorry about… wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Not at all. Neither was I.” He smiled. 

“Well, I, uh…” You looked past him, “Have a lot to go.”

“Can I join you?” He asked. You squinted at his eagerness. 

“Weren’t you going…” You pointed over your shoulder.

“I just do circles,” He said. “Doesn’t really matter which direction.”

“I’m not very fast.”

“It’s not a race.”

“Alright,” You threw your hands up, just wanting to get it over with. “But if you feel like leaving me behind, don’t think it’ll bother me.”

“Come on,” He turned so he faced the same direction. “It’s always easier with company.”

You exhaled and righted yourself before you fell back into a jog. He kept pace beside you. You could smell his sweat. You tried to keep your breathing quiet.

“I used to run with my pal Sam but… he joined a gym.” He said. “So, new hobby?”

“Hobby is putting it… nicely,” You huffed. “More like trying to make up for my own laziness.”

“It’s never too late to make a change,” He preened. “You got any other hobbies? Maybe something you enjoy more?”

You glanced at him. Your chest hurt but you didn’t want to slow down.

“Cross-stitching? Tetris?” You offered. “Nothing special. Just… life.”

“How’s work?” He asked.

You were silent as you kept running. You listened to the sound of your foot falls as your breath came faster.

“I--” You came to a stop and turned to him as you touched your side. “Forgive me for being a bit--confused but--” You gulped. “Don’t you have friends? _Super_ friends?”

“Co-workers,” He said and his hands went to his hips. “Oh, maybe you already have enough friends then.”

“Look, I’m forty, I work the same job I had sixteen years ago, I live in a box, and I’m falling apart,” You shook your head. “Not many people are trying to be my friend. All my friends have families; obligations.”

“Well, it sounds like we have a lot in common,” He grinned. “So we should be great friends.”

You frowned. His optimism was irksome. His refusal to be rebuffed more so.

“Friends?” You repeated darkly.

“Maybe just running buddies?” He suggested. “I do get a bit lonely out here with just the chipmunks.”

“Steve.” You uttered.

“And I think you need someone to keep you on the right path, hmm? I’ve been told I’m a great motivator. Bit of a hard ass but I’ve got a talent and I use it.”

You considered him. He was right. An app wasn’t going to keep you going forever. Already, you were tempted to drag the little icon to the bin. Already you were tempted to sleep in. Already you were succumbing to failure. 

“You sure?” You asked.

“What time do you usually run?”

“Well, weekdays, I head out at six, back home at seven, then off to work,” You explained. “Weekends I get an extra hour of sleep.”

“Alright,” He turned and set off. You followed. “I can’t promise every day. Lots of work out of town but weekends at least.”

“You really don’t--”

“Maybe if you start saying yes, you’ll find what you’ve been looking for,” He intoned. 

You grumbled and pressed your lips together. He was right. You hated that he was. Something about this man both intrigued and disturbed you. He was kind but with a hint of pushiness. You just couldn’t decide if his insistence was merely clueless or something more deliberate.

👟

Another week and the mornings were easier, though the days continued to drag. Steve met you again on Monday and Tuesday but Wednesday he was gone. You didn’t mind so much but he returned on Saturday. He waited for you at the park entrance, a wrapped box in his hand. You were curious but not nosy.

You slowed as he greeted you.

“Hey,” He smiled. “I didn’t realise until after I’d gone that I had no way to tell you I’d be away.”

“It’s fine.” You assured him. “Think I managed just fine on my own.”

“Work,” He said. “But a quick mission so I can’t complain.”

“I saw you on the news,” You looked towards the fountain that stood further inside the park. “I figured.”

“Still, I think maybe… I’d like a more direct line.” He pulled out his phone as he kept the box under his arm.

“Are you asking for my number?”

“In case anything happens,” He said. “I mean, we’re not strangers.

“Sure, but…” You wetted your dry lip with your tongue. “Okay. Um, I don’t have my phone on me but I can give you my number.”

“Great, I’ll text you.” He unlocked his cell and carefully keyed in your details as you recited them. He replaced the phone in the strap around his bicep. “There. Your very own on-call hero.”

“Right,” You nodded slowly.

“Oh, and…” He grabbed the box from beneath his elbow. “Happy belated birthday.”

“What? Uh, I can’t. You already--”

“A cake? Really. Everyone should have a cake on their birthday.” He held out the gift. “And presents too.”

You looked at the small square box. You chewed your lip and shifted your weight on your feet.

“It’s really nothing special.” He urged. “If you’re wondering, July fourth,” He pointed to himself. “So you’re in the clear.”

“Steve--”

“I already got it and… it’s not really my colour,” He shoved it closer. “Please.”

You slowly took it as you gave a quiet thank you. You carefully slipped a finger in the crease of red wrapping paper and tore it open. A dusty pink smart watch shone back at you. You blinked and looked up at him.

“The guy at the store said you sync it with your phone and it can count your steps and all that. Send you reminders.” He rubbed his neck. “I thought it would be useful. Especially when I’m away.”

You tilted your head at him then looked back to the clear plastic window of the box. It was expensive, you could tell. 

“It’s… a lot.” You said. 

“It’s a gift. It’s not about the price tag,” He shrugged. “Come on. Try it on.”

You scratched your hairline and muttered. You went over to a bench and sat as you worked at opening the box. You took out the watch and admired its round face. He offered to do it up for you and you turned your wrist over. He secured it and you held up your hand as you looked it over.

“You like it?” He asked. “They had gold but I liked the pink.”

“Nice color,” You affirmed. “I guess… I guess I can use it.” You lowered your arm and hid the watched with your other hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. It’s what friends do,” He stood and gathered the packaging. “You don’t need all this, do you?”

“No,” You stood. “Thanks.”

He tossed it in a bin surrounded by hedges and you neared.

“Well, should we get going?” He asked.

“Yeah. Maybe an extra lap today?” You said. “Push myself a little.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)
> 
> This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figure I’d give this a quick update :)
> 
> Thank you. Love you guys!
> 
> As always, if you can, please leave some feedback <3

After you saved Steve’s number to your phone, his first text was unexpected. Just as you finished your dinner, your cell buzzed and you read his message. ‘Hope you’re having a great night.’ You had given him your number so you could run together, you hadn’t expected anything else. ‘Thanks. You too.’ The reply was simple. Courteous but short. Perhaps he would get the hint.

But he texted again. ‘Another mission tomorrow. Enjoy your run. Be back in a few days.’ You felt awkward and uncertain. _How did you respond to that?_ You supposed you were friends but there was a barrier there still. Not like your other friends; old friends, now. The same humour tossed back and forth wasn’t there. You felt a sense of formality; of expectation. He _was_ Captain America. You couldn’t share your dark anecdotes with him.

‘Good luck.’ You replied. He sent a smiley in return. You left it at that and plugged in your phone across the room. You didn’t want to worry about him. You had one more day off before you were once again back to work. A day to yourself. Not that you ever spent much of your time anything but alone.

Sunday came and went. Laundry, tidying, chores. All that after another run around the park. Your muscles were loosening up and you felt decent. No more frozen pizzas but greens and baked chicken. You were changing, a little at a time, but it was something.

The next day, even after your morning exercise, you arrived at work enlivened. You had to admit that Steve’s gift had come in handy. You didn’t have to fumble with your phone for the time or even to check your messages. It was all on your wrists; your steps, your heart rate, your alarms. 

Even so, you still felt a pang of guilt looking at it. He was too nice. Yet you wouldn’t let your mind wander far when you asked why. He had told you. Friends; running buddies. Simple as that. Maybe it was a novelty for him to meet someone who wasn’t entirely starstruck or to have someone who wasn’t in the same line of work as him. Or maybe he was secretly laughing at the old woman and her scuffed sneakers.

And there were other changes. Not just the physical adrenaline of your new habit. You felt a little less suffocated by the window around your counter, a little less annoyed by your eclectic co-workers, a little less bogged down at the end of the day. You started tracking your meals on the watch app, too.

The days ticked off easier and the mornings were less groggy. New York was brighter even as August came to an end. Forty wasn’t so bad. You wouldn’t let it be. You couldn’t. You’d wasted enough time.

Steve returned the following Sunday. A whole week away. You were surprised as he caught you a block before the park.

“Must’ve been quite the mission,” You remarked as you passed under the archway which led to the park. 

“It… was,” He said hesitantly. “Look at you.”

“What?” You glanced over.

“Nothing, you just look… happier,” He replied. “And you’re moving a lot better. Forty looks good on you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“And the watch,” He added.

“Yeah, it’s… thank you. It’s really helpful.” You ceded.

“Another few weeks and I won’t be able to keep up with you,” He jibed.

“Don’t patronize me,” You said.

“Serious.” He insisted. “You know it’s okay to be proud of yourself. Progress is always progress. No matter how small it seems.”

“You ever think of being a life coach?” You said. “You could really make a buck off the suckers who buy into that stuff.”

“Life coach?” He repeated. “I never heard of that.”

“Oh, you know, they get paid to give you a smiley face sticker for waking up every day,” You said. “Wait, I think they call themselves accountability consultants, these days. Sounds more like my mother.”

He laughed as you headed up the incline.

“Am I that inspiring?” He asked.

“Not the word I’d use,” You said.

“You think I’m bad but this is me in easy mode,” He said. “You haven’t seen me in Captain mode.”

“Captain mode?” You snickered. “Sounds awful.”

“So I’ve heard.” He said as he stopped. You skidded and spun back to him. “Drop and give me twenty, soldier.”

“What?” You shook your head. “Come on, Steve.”

“Not until I see twenty,” He said. You weren’t sure if he was kidding. You laughed. “Captain mode.” He got closer. “Hands shoulder width apart,” He commanded. “Knees straight.”

You stared at him as your chest flurried. You blinked and his hands went to his hips.

“I can’t-- Steve.” You said.

“You can’t or you won’t,” He challenged. 

You grimaced and checked your watch. You weren’t even halfway done your run. You got down slowly to the ground, cheeks burning, and got into position. You lifted yourself shakily and grunted out, “One.”

“That’s it.” He stepped around you. “Two. Three.” He counted for you and swung a foot over you and stood above you. “Four.” He bent and grabbed your waist. “Don’t bend your knees. Five. Six.” He guided you. “Keep your form. Seven. Eight…”

Your arms thrummed and you dropped to your chest entirely at fourteen. You were out of breath already and embarrassed. He came around you and knelt in front of you.

“Only six more.”

“Steve,” You panted. “Stop.” You pushed yourself up and sat on your knees. 

“You’re just gonna give up?” He asked.

“Please,” You got up and wavered on your feet. “I… I can’t.”

You turned away from him and started walking. You dusted off your hands and regained your breath. He followed only as you broke into a jog. He caught up easily.

“You only get better by doing it,” He said.

You were silent. Humiliated. You had felt so good, so ahead of the game and he had pulled you right back. Reminded you of your age, of your weakness. And you had let him.

“How old are you? One hundred and what?” You gasped. “I don’t see any grey. Nothing. I’d killed to look like you ten years ago, let alone today. Don’t act like you know. You don’t. Another ten years and you still won’t feel like I do.” You sniffed back your anger. “You don’t know how lucky you are or how easy you have it.”

“I was just trying to… help. To push you.” He said. “To show you what you’re capable of.”

“All you’ve shown me is what I can’t do,” You sneered. “As if I didn’t already know.”

You continued on in silence. He languished in the anger radiating off of you as you dwelled in humiliation. One step forward, two steps back.

📱

Steve apologized again before you parted. Once more over a text. And again the next morning. You just wanted to forget it and you said as much.

Your run was quieter that day. You had work on your mind. You could tell Steve felt bad. You did too. You were taking your insecurities out on him. He hadn’t done it with bad intent but it still felt like it. It still felt entirely degrading to stand beside him in stark contrast to vitality. He was a beacon and you were a burnt wick.

You left him with as few words as the day before and returned home to shower before you caught the train. The same counter, the same co-workers, the same ticking clock staring back at you, the same disgruntled New Yorkers.

As you clocked out for your lunch, Deanna stopped you. Her usual starbucks monstrosity in hand.

“You’ve got a visitor.” She said. “Front desk.”

You sputtered out your confused curiosity and grabbed your lunch from the break room fridge. The last time someone came to see you, it had been your mother. She wanted your thoughts on your nephew’s birthday party. She had quickly grown frustrated with your suggestions and subsequent indifference to her obstinacy.

But it wasn’t your mother. Steve stood by the round desk where applicants were dolled out forms and their papers were reviewed before the moved onto you. You approached and your grasp tightened on your lunch bag.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Again?” You peered over at the girl at the circular desk. You waved Steve away from her and led him out to the shared lobby. “I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you. You obviously weren’t comfortable with that and I should’ve known better.” He said. “Can I make it up to you?”

“You don’t need to.” You replied.

“Well, maybe you don’t think I do but I think so,” He said. “There’s a pizzeria by my place. I thought a slice would be good for a cheat day.”

“It’s Monday,” You said.

“And? One slice.” He caught your eye. “Please.”

“One slice.” You checked your watch. “And the last twenty minutes of my break.”

“It’s all yours, sorry,” He raised his hands. “I’ll meet you after work. Here.”

“Fine,” You nodded. “See ya then.”

“With bells on.” He smiled but made no move to leave.

You turned away first and felt him watching you as you passed back through the door. You glanced back as you neared the desk. He was still there, staring at you. You quickly continued past the front desk and back through the waiting room. Your cynicism was getting the best of you.

📱

As promised, Steve was waiting for you. You’d almost forgot as he spooked you in the lobby. You let him hail a cab and were thankful for the leather seat. You were exhausted and you weren’t halfway through the week.

The pizza place was small but smelled delicious. You ordered a slice with veggies and Steve got triple meat. You sat at a round table by the window and opened the bottle of water.

“How was your day?” He asked.

“Same old,” You swallowed your first bite. “Not very exciting work. Nothing compared to fighting bad guys.”

“You don’t like it?” He prodded.

“It’s work. It’s definitely not my dream. Not that I really ever had one.” You took another bite to shut yourself up.

“You never tried anything else?”

“Well, I worked retail before. And I was a waitress.” You took a drink of water. “Art degrees might as well be painted over. Ironically.”

“You have an art degree?”

“Buried somewhere.” You said.

“Oh yeah? You paint?” He leaned on the table.

“Sometimes… not much,” You confessed. “Doodles mostly.”

“But… you could sell your art.”

“For pennies,” You countered.

“You never know? And it could be a second hobby. Something you love.”

“Well, with art, you have to have something to say. There’s a point in your life when your voice becomes futile and then you just are too tired to talk above the crowd.” You shrugged. “Anything I have to say has been said before.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What do you care if I paint?” You challenged.

“Well, I think you should do what makes you happy. Not just what you should do or have to do.” He said.

“So you save the world because it’s what makes you happy?”

“Well, in a way, but I do other things. I draw, no degree in that but I do it. I run, not so fun to you but it clears my head. I build things.” He bent his crust and dropped it. “And I do new things that I end up hating and sometimes I end up loving. But if I didn’t try, I wouldn’t know.”

You swallowed and wiped your mouth.

“Maybe that’s why your Captain America and I’m not.” You said as you crumpled your napkin up. “You have a serum that can turn art into money?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)
> 
> This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wouldn’t say I’m back just yet. I was just getting ready to answer more of your amazing asks and I’ve been sitting on this chapter forever so I decided to edit and get it out between my original stuff. I won’t be posting regularly just yet but I just wanted you guys to know I appreciate you!
> 
> Thank you. Love you guys!
> 
> As always, if you can, please leave some feedback and take care of yourselves <3

It was a bad day. Well, only morning so far. You woke up stiff. Work, your mother, life. It all piled up and wound a knot just beneath your shoulder blade. As you sat up, you realised it was more. Not just your shoulder but your neck and all down your sides; the muscles stiff and unyielding.

You barely managed to grab your phone from the bedside table. You whined as you fell back onto the pillows and dialed your manager’s number. It was early enough that all you got was her voicemail. You sucked in all your breath and quickly left your message. A sick day ticked off your yearly tally. You hung up and stared at the ceiling. _Ow._

You turned your head and that hurt too. Just inside your dresser were your freshly washed capris and the dark blue tank just waiting for you. Well, you didn’t imagine a run would do you much good. Or be possible. You sobbed in frustration.

It was an hour of agony. You tried to fall asleep but the pain was too much. You groaned as you pushed yourself up. A yelp escaped you as you hung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood. You hobbled to the bathroom and caught yourself on the sink. You opened the cabinet and used one hand to break two capsules free of the packet. For emergencies only.

You tossed back the muscles relaxers with a handful of water from the faucet and grumbled as you made your way back to bed. You could have fallen onto the mattress but even the thought made you hurt. You lowered yourself carefully and laid face down. You stayed like that until your phone vibrated against you.

You felt around beneath your side and answered without looking. 

“Hello?” You croaked as your eyelids began to droop with the weight of the medicine.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve’s voice rose from the speaker.

“What? Steve?” You rolled onto your side and wheezed in pain. “Yeah, I’m… fine.”

“I’m at the park.” He said evenly.

“Oh, I--” You tried to relax and urge the tension from your back. “Sorry, I hurt my--ugh, back.” 

You couldn’t get comfortable. Every which way only made it worse.

“Your back?” He asked.

“I’ll be fine. I took some relaxers. I just need to sleep it off and-- urg, call my chiropractor.” You balled your other hand around the corner of your pillow. “Ow, ow, ow.”

“What did you do?” He asked. “Did you lift something or--”

“You really don’t need to worry,” you gritted through your teeth. “It happens. It could be from just sitting in the same chair for eight hours or you know, just father time. Ahhhh.”

“I’ll come check on you,” You heard him walking and then a car horn. “Um, I just realised I have no idea where I’m going.”

“Steve, really, I can take care of myself.” You insisted. “The pills are already kicking in.”

“I can help. I have some experience with physical therapy.” He replied. 

“No, no, it’s--” You tried to sit up and almost screamed, instead muffling it in your throat. 

“You can text me the address. You don’t sound fine.” He urged. “Please.”

You sighed. Then gasped as it sent a pang through you.

“I can’t--” You were tired and your head was fuzzy from the meds. “Alright.”

You hung up without awaiting his response and keyed in your address before you dropped the phone. You closed your eyes and let yourself float away in the static, the knot in your back still thrumming in your subconscious.

Your phone kept you from sinking entirely. It shook again, this time without pause. You answered and Steve’s voice came over the garbled buzzer.

“Hey, I’m here.” He said.

“Here?” You blinked at the phone.

“It’s Steve. I’m downstairs.” He said.

“Why?” You asked.

“Oh, never mind,” He replied. “Thanks.” You heard before it cut off entirely. The line went dead and you slung your phone down beside you.

Then the knocking came. You were annoyed. You got up, with an effort that made your entire body throb. You ambled into the living room and neared the door. You peeked through the little hole and slid the chain free. You leaned heavily on the door as you opened it.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked and you just bared your teeth at him. “Wow.” You stumbled back and hit the closet behind you. You winced and your legs threatened to crumple. “Here.”

He closed the door and wrapped his arm around you as he pulled you away from the closet. You whimpered as he led you back into the living room. He hesitated as he looked around then continued to the bedroom door. He peered inside before he angled you within and towards the bed. He was warm. Hot against you.

“Oh, I can feel it.” You mumbled as he lowered you down to the mattress. “The relaxers are hitting.”

“Good,” He carefully laid you down and turned you onto your side, your back to him. “Where does it hurt?”

His hand started at your neck and you groaned. He brushed down and you got louder as he touched your shoulder then your lower back. His fingers tickled your hips and he lingered along your pajama bottoms before he retreated. He pressed his palm more firmly to your back.

“Definitely tension,” He said.

You hummed and bent your arms in front of you. He let you fall back and your eyes slowly closed. 

“What did you take?” He asked.

You pointed to the bathroom and your arm quickly dropped beside you. You opened your eyes as you heard him. He frowned and left you. He re-entered with the package of capsules and read it.

“How many?”

You held up two fingers and he shook his head.

“It says you should only take one every six hours.” He turned the box in his hands. “These are extra strength.”

“No, regular,” Your lashes fluttered and you let your eyes close again. “I only get regular.”

“No, these are extra strength,” His weight settled on the mattress. “You should be fine but no more for today.”

“You go,” You grumbled as the drowsiness rested over you like a shroud. “I told you… I’m okay.”

“You need someone to keep an eye on you.” He said. “You took a double dose.”

“Tired,” You yawned. “Go.”

You didn’t register his response, only his tone. Stern. You were dragged deeper into the dissonance until all was black. Until all that remained was the distant pain along your spine. The whisper of the worries which had turned your muscle to stone.

💊

You woke as the pain needled into your neck deeper than before. Your head was cradled between your pillows and your arm bent beneath you painfully in your drugged sleep. You groaned and pushed yourself up, vaguely aware of someone else moving around in your apartment.

You touched your forehead and tried to clear your head. You remembered calling in and taking the relaxers but after that, it was all fuzzy. You rolled over with a squeak and carefully sat up. Your eyes welled and threatened to overflow from the sheer agony down your spine.

A count of ten readied you for the torturous effort of standing up. You staggered and caught yourself on the nightstand. Your shirt was twisted around your torso and your pajama pants were rumpled from your heavy sleep. You moved slowly and stiffly to the door and eased it open as you listened to the activity on the other side.

You followed the steady chop of a knife against the cutting board and leaned inside the kitchen doorway as your shoulder twinged sharply. Steve was focused on chopping a cucumber as low jazz floated up from his phone. You gripped the wooden frame beside you and rubbed your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice scratched in your throat.

He looked over at you and placed the knife down. He wiped his hands on the dishcloth and neared you. “You shouldn’t be up. You’ll only make it worse.”

“What-- I don’t--”

“You took too many relaxers.” He said flatly. “You’ve been sleeping it off for the last… six hours.”

“Six hours?” You muttered as he guided you around and into the living room. You hissed as another jolt rattled your bones. “Ahhh.”

Steve caught you before you could collapse and scooped you up in his thick arms. He sighed and sat you down on the couch softly.

“What were you doing?”

“Making a salad.” He answered. “I didn’t want to just leave you here alone.”

“You didn’t have to come in the first place.”

“I think I did.” He brought his hands to either side of your neck and you winced. A blinding pain ran from the back of your skull, down your neck, along your shoulder blade, and all the way to your ankle. “Do me a favour.” He dropped his hands. “Turn your head to the right.”

You squinted at him and reluctantly did as he said.

“Left.” He demanded and when you tried the other side, you cried out and reached up to grip your neck. “Hmm, raise your arms.” You did that but your left didn’t get as high up as your right. You gasped in pain again and he sat beside you. “Turn your back to me.”

“I should call my chiro.” You said. “You shouldn’t--”

“I know what I’m doing.” He insisted and squeezed your hip. “Turn.”

“Steve.”

“I’m trying to help you.” He poked your arm and you relented and shifted until you were sideways on the cushion. He bent his leg up and faced you.

His large hands settled on your shoulders and he ran his thumb up your neck. You whimpered and he slid his hands lower, feeling your muscles.

“Tell me what hurts most.” 

He touched your left shoulder blade and paused as you cried out. He poked along it and your voice rasped even louder. He continued down your back and sides and the weight between your hips made you shake as it felt as if your entire body would dissolve from the pain.

“I don’t know what I did,” you whined. “I just woke up like this.”

“Anything happen yesterday? Something stressful?” His hands crawled up your back and he grasped your shoulders again. He began to stroke the back of your neck lightly with his thumbs. You went rigid as he coaxed the muscles. “Just relax, you’ll only make it worse.”

“Ah,” you did your best to let go of the tension but you weren’t comfortable with him touching you. In fact, you weren’t entirely fine with him being in your apartment.

“So, what’s going on?” He asked.

You exhaled deeply and he moved to your shoulders, a surprised groan escaped you as he hit a particularly tender spot.

“Definitely a pinched nerve.” He said. “So tell me, what’s go you all knotted up?”

You shook your head and that only jarred you again. You couldn’t help but lean back as he kneaded your flesh. The pain was unbearable and overwhelmed your caution.

“My brother’s birthday is coming up. I’m supposed to go to my mom’s--” you sucked in air as you resisted a moan. He definitely knew what he was doing. “She called me last night and--” You couldn’t hold back the next and the long whine escaped you. You closed your eyes in embarrassment and searched for your voice. “You know, she didn’t do anything for my birthday but she wants me there and I love my brother but-- ughhh, oh my god, Steve.”

You covered your mouth as your wispy tone sent heat through your body.

“I told you, relax. Keep talking.”

You tore your hand from your mouth. “You don’t have too--”

“I want to, now what’s going on with your mother?”

“The usual. She’s disappointed in me. She… wants me to bring a date but even if I had one, I wouldn’t want to bring them around. I wish she’d just accept me for just me but--” You pressed your lips together and dug your nails into the couch as his hand got lower. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“I don’t think so.” He continued to work your muscles and you leaned back against him without thinking. “Your mom shouldn’t be pressuring you like that. You’re doing so well. You’ve been running, you work hard, and I think she should be proud.”

You dropped your head back against his shoulder as your eyes rolled back. His hands were on your hips, kneading and gripping in turn so that your right leg slung down limply over the side of the couch. He didn’t seem to mind as you pressed against him and your voice swirled up into the air in relief.

He was quiet as he continued to massage your lower back and along your sides. He repeated his course up and down until he was focused on your hips again. The remnants of the relaxers rested on your eyelids and your breath slowed as you were tempted to fall back asleep.

He rubbed your hip bones lightly as you floated in a haze and all was quiet but for the beating of his heart against your back. His hands moved around your front and his fingers crawled over your pelvis. You were startled by how intimate his touch was but could do nothing but remain as you were.

He retracted his hand as if surprised himself. He cleared his throat and eased out from behind you, lowering you onto your back as he stood. He sniffed and his jaw tensed as he forced a smile.

“You stay here. Don’t move, I mean it, you’ll hurt yourself worse than you already are.” He took a pillow from the other side of the couch and slipped it under your head. “I’ll go finish lunch. You need something in your stomach.”

He turned and took the slender black remote from your low coffee table. He placed it beside your hand. His blue eyes flicked across your middle and you pulled down the hem of your shirt as you realised it had ridden up. He shook his head and backed away.

“After you eat, you should take a hot bath. Liquid heat is good for tension.” His voice faded as he strode back to the kitchen. “And I think you should take tomorrow off too. That’s not going away overnight.”


End file.
